


Blaise Inglorious

by Northumbrian



Series: Nineteen Years and Beyond [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Dumbledore's Army, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Inquisitorial Squad, Sting - Freeform, draco bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:31:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4426697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northumbrian/pseuds/Northumbrian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny is stuck at Hogwarts while Harry, Ron, and Hermione are on the run. Blaise knows that no girl can resist him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blaise Inglorious

**Blaise Inglorious**

The Christmas holidays were over. Although it was only a couple of days since they’d returned to Hogwarts, Blaise and his classmates had already been summoned to the Head Boy’s room, to attend one of Draco’s “important meetings.”

Head Boy Draco was, as usual, holding court in what had once been the Slytherin NEWT level students' study room. Now, it was Malfoy's personal space, the Head Boy's room. There was even a large polished brass plaque on the door to ensure that everyone knew the room belonged to "Draco Malfoy, Head Boy."

Pansy Parkinson was Head Girl but her name wasn't on the door and, as their second term began, Blaise was certain that it never would be. Pansy’s attempts to wheedle, cajole, seduce, and even threaten Draco had come to nothing. And Draco’s indifference towards Pansy had increased noticeably as the first term of their seventh year progressed.

As he strolled towards the Head Boy’s room, Blaise glanced across at the latest batch of anti-Muggleborn propaganda posters Draco’s eager minions had printed. The posters lined the wall of the Slytherin common room, proclaiming the Ministry’s anti-Muggle and anti-Muggleborn messages.

The words on the poster reflected the tenor of the times. The messages were short, and the letters large: “Magic is Might!”; “Stamp Out the Mudblood Menace!”; “Pure Mind, Pure Heart, Pure Blood!”; “Suspicious of your neighbour? Tell the Ministry!”; “Join The Snatchers, a Force For Good!” It was little wonder that even those who were pure of blood were fearful of the new regime.

The posters were supposed to be on display throughout the school, but outside the Slytherin common room they were removed or defaced almost as soon as they were put up. Dumbledore’s Army simply wouldn’t allow them to remain, and the re-formed Inquisitorial Squad seemed to be incapable of catching the culprits. Draco had responded to the vandalism by having a printing press delivered to the common room. Every day “volunteers” from among the younger Slytherins printed and pasted new posters in the corridors, and every night they were vandalised. To Blaise, it seemed a pointless exercise.

After making certain that his Inquisitorial Squad badge was prominent on his robes, Blaise entered the Head Boy’s room and sat in his usual chair at the back of the room. He tried to look interested as Draco droned on about yet another injustice, another attack on his dignity. On this occasion someone had managed to sprinkle Bulbadox Powder into Draco’s underpants, and it wasn’t simply the Head Boy’s feelings that had been hurt. Instead of sitting in his large throne-like chair, Draco was standing with his legs wide apart. It seemed that, despite Madam Pomfrey’s best efforts, the boils had not completely gone.

Blaise’s mouth twitched as he tried to hide his amusement. He wasn’t alone, everyone knew better than to laugh at the Head Boy, but given the nature of this latest crime, it was difficult. Small, mousy, Tracey Davis was hiding behind the other girls as she desperately struggled to stifle her laughter.

Draco was so busy haranguing everyone that he hadn’t realised Pansy was dutifully hanging on his every word. Whatever relationship the King and Queen of his year group had once had, it was now gone. Blaise knew—because he’d made it his business to find out—that Draco hadn’t even sent Pansy a Christmas card. He was surprised that Pansy was still pretending to be interested. But her rapt attention didn’t last long. Noticing Draco’s indifference Pansy stopped, turned, and rolled her eyes. Blaise caught her bored glance, and automatically reappraised her.

Pansy was a seven. Nice legs, decent arse, and big tits, it was a shame about her face. Blaise smiled back at her, because it always paid to stay on the right side of girls, particularly ones who might be willing, under the right circumstances, to let him cop a feel. If the opportunity arose to get close to Head Girl Pansy without annoying their still ranting leader, and Draco certainly didn’t seem to care any longer, then Blaise would take it without hesitation.

Daphne Greengrass smiled at Blaise, too. She was a five. If she made the effort, she could be a seven, but she rarely made the effort because, if she did, Pansy sulked. In their fourth year, Blaise had fought off Pansy’s desperate horse-faced friend on a couple of occasions. But Daphne had been a late developer, and she’d improved a lot in the years since her sixteenth birthday.

Now, however, Daphne wasn’t even slightly interested in Blaise. She’d told everyone who would listen, including a lot of people who certainly didn’t want to know, that she was shagging Miles Bletchley. As Bletchley was rather more than a year older than Daphne, he’d left school. Blaise had been expecting Daphne to be dumped. To his surprise, it hadn’t happened. That was a pity, as he’d decided that if he got the chance he’d give the new, slightly curvier Daphne solace—and anything else she’d let him give her.

‘Are you listening, Blaise?’ Draco snapped.

‘He’s probably daydreaming about Ginny Weasley,’ said Daphne snidely. ‘He still fancies her, you know. And Blaise reckons that no girl can resist his charms, don’t you, Blaise?’

‘She’s a filthy blood-traitor,’ Draco snarled, ‘and the only thing worse than a blood-traitor is a Mudblood!’

‘She’s a looker,’ said Blaise, staring honestly into the Head Boy’s eyes as he tried to push all thoughts of the Weasley girl from his mind. Somehow Daphne knew his weakness. ‘But, as you say, Draco, she’s a blood-traitor,’ he acknowledged.

That wasn’t, however, the reason why he avoided her. The fiery little redhead wasn’t merely pretty; unlike most of his Slytherin friends, she was also full of life and humour. He rated Weasley at nine, and he’d have taken another run at her but for one thing. His first attempt to get close to her, only days after term had started—when he’d realised that she was now the only Weasley at Hogwarts and he no longer had any of her insane brothers to worry about—had ended in disaster. It had taken him days to remove all of the dried bogeys from his hair.

‘Remember which side you’re on, Blaise,’ said Draco, somewhat mollified by Blaise’s answer. ‘And remember who you’re dealing with!’ He pulled up his sleeve to reveal his Dark Mark and then nodded to Crabbe, who pulled up his sleeve to show that he, too, bore the Mark.

‘You didn’t have that before Christmas,’ said Blaise, as almost everyone in the room gasped in surprise.

Looking around, Blaise noticed that weedy little Theodore Nott was the only one who didn’t appear to be surprised. He couldn’t be certain whether Nott had known, or whether he was simply being his usual dispassionate and almost unreadable self. It was, of course, possible that Nott’s father—who was a Death Eater—kept his son informed. Nott glanced assessingly at Blaise. Even after sharing a dorm with the short, pale-faced, and dark-haired boy for his entire school life, Blaise still found him a mystery. As he watched, Blaise saw Pansy cast an appreciative glance at Nott. It was difficult for Blaise to comprehend why, but it appeared that a few girls actually found Nott’s aloofness and complete lack of passion attractive. Was Pansy one of them, he wondered.

‘Got ‘em now,’ Crabbe grunted proudly, showing everyone his Mark.

‘Getting mine next,’ said Goyle eagerly.

‘When are the rest of you going to join?’ Draco demanded. ‘Nott?’  
‘My father won’t allow it,’ said Nott quietly. His voice seemed tinged with regret, but with Nott you never really knew. ‘As you know, Draco, he carries the mark. But he tells me I must be patient; I must wait until my schooling is over. I am an obedient son.’

‘My dad won’t, either,’ said Pansy worriedly. ‘I told you, Draco.’

‘Mine neither,’ said Daphne.

The other girls hastily said the same, apart from Bullstrode, ‘My da couldn’t stop me, but I’ve never bin asked. Not by nobody,’ she admitted cheerfully, cracking her knuckles.

Blaise examined the tall, thickset girl. Bullstrode was a three at best, but, astonishingly, even she had a bloke outside school; Blaise had seen him kiss her goodbye on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Admittedly, he appeared to be half-troll and half-gorilla, but he was definitely male.

‘That’s easy to fix, Bullstrode, I’ll speak to my father.’ Draco turned his cold grey eyes toward Blaise. ‘What about you, Zabini,’ he demanded harshly. Blaise racked his brain for an excuse.

‘Surely it’s best if we don’t all join,’ Nott observed quietly. ‘Everyone knows that you bear the Mark, Draco; that’s one of the reasons Dumbledore’s Army targets you. Surely you can see the advantage of having allies whose true allegiance isn’t _completely_ obvious to the other side.’

‘Exactly,’ said Blaise, gratefully voicing his agreement. ‘I’m much more use to you without it, Draco. Ginny Weasley, for example, would never go near someone with the Mark. Without it, I could still appeal to her better nature.’

‘She hasn’t got one,’ observed Pansy. ‘And why would she be interested in you? I know she denies it, but she’s still Potter’s girl.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Pansy,’ Draco snapped. ‘If she was involved with Potter in any way _I_ would know. He’s on the run with that moronic buck-toothed Mudblood, Granger.’

‘Draco’s right, Pansy,’ said Blaise. ‘I spent some time with one of Ginny’s dorm mates, Tabitha, just before Christmas. While I was making the little tabby-cat purr under the mistletoe, I pumped her…’

‘I bet you did,’ said Pansy. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Draco looked at them all with distaste.

‘The girl’s a pathetic half-blood,’ Draco told Blaise, his voice dripping with disdain.

‘True, but all I did was flirt and try to get some information out of her,’ said Blaise smugly. ‘I succeeded. Tabby reckons that Ginny’s got a new obsession. She’s taken down the Harpies posters, which she’s had since first year, and she’s replaced them with posters of Puddlemere. She’s obsessed with their Keeper, Oliver Wood. She tells everyone how dreamy he is.’

‘If you’re so clever, Blaise,’ said Draco, ‘why don’t you find out what _Weasley_ knows?’ He wriggled with discomfort, scratched his buttock, and winced in pain. ‘I’m certain know she’s one of the troublemakers. She probably knows who is responsible for this latest outrage.’ He glared, daring his companions to laugh at his discomfort. ‘Get the names of her co-conspirators, find out what they’re planning. Let’s see if you can sweet talk her into spilling her secrets to you,’ Draco ordered.

‘I don’t know...’ Blaise began.

‘He can’t,’ said Pansy spitefully. ‘He’ll never be able to get close to the little cow.’

‘I _will_ ,’ Blaise protested. He immediately regretted his words, but he knew that it was too late to back down.

Blaise thought back to the beginning of the year. He’d made his move on Ginny in October, pulling her into his arms and telling her how gorgeous she was. It was a technique which worked well, particularly with small and timid girls; they were often too embarrassed to fight him off. In fact a lot of girls, he’d discovered, were too timid to fight back. They would simply laugh nervously if he grabbed them. Ginny Weasley was small, but she wasn’t timid. The Bat-Bogey Hex seemed to be an automatic reflex for her. He would have to use a different technique, he realised.

Perhaps a slow, more seductive approach would work.

* * *

For almost six weeks, Blaise hadn’t looked at another girl. He’d been polite and charming to everyone, particularly Ginny. He’d also spent days researching Puddlemere United, memorising the names of the team members, checking on the scores, and on their position in the league. He’d finally presented himself to the little redhead as a fellow Puddlemere fan, and it seemed to be working.

For the past three weeks, they’d been talking, and she seemed to be warming to him. Unfortunately, every time he tried to make a move, one of her fellow Gryffindors turned up, and she immediately became defensive and stand-offish.

The previous evening Blaise had risked Draco’s wrath by helping her to remove some of the newest of the Ministry posters. That act had obviously impressed her. As he approached her in the corridor that Friday evening, after his final lesson, he knew that it was time to make his move. He knew exactly where to find her, as he’d memorised her timetable. It was Friday the fourteenth of February, Saint Valentine’s Day, the ideal day to make a move.

‘ _Orchideous_ ,’ said Blaise as he approached his quarry. Half-a-dozen red roses appeared from the tip of his wand. He handed them to the pretty little redhead in front of him.

Ginny’s surprised smile was dazzling. ‘You’re persistent, I admire that in a man,’ she cooed. ‘And it is a beautiful bunch of roses.’ She lifted it to her nose and sniffed. ‘They smell wonderful, too. I’m almost beginning to feel sorry that I hexed you at the beginning of the first term.’

‘Forgive me for that first clumsy attempt,’ said Blaise. ‘I had to persist; what else could I do? The one who broke my heart is the only one who can fix it,’ He gave her his most charming smile. ‘Roses are the only fitting gift for the wonderful, and beautiful, Ginny Weasley. Red roses for a red rose,’ he continued. ‘Please, Ginny, be my Valentine. Meet me tomorrow; we can go for a walk around the lake.’ He slid his arm around her waist, pulled her close, and bent forwards to kiss her. She lifted her head to meet him, but he was interrupted before their lips met.

Someone grabbed Blaise’s arm and pulled it from Ginny’s waist. As he was forcefully pulled away from Ginny, a fist connected with his mouth. Blaise heard the crack, felt the blood begin to flow, and saw stars.

‘Keep your hands off her, Slytherin scum!’ Seamus Finnegan shouted angrily. ‘And as for you Ginny, what in Merlin’s name are you playing... Aargh!’

‘Mind your own business, Seamus,’ Ginny snapped.

Blaise blinked away his tears of pain. His face! His looks were his best weapon, but his lip had burst against his teeth, and it already felt as though it had swollen to double its normal size. Was his tooth loose? He’d need to get it fixed, immediately. As he felt his mouth, he saw the burly, fair-haired Irish boy backing off. Seamus was trying to fight Ginny’s Bat-Bogey Hex.

‘ _Episkey_ ,’ said Ginny, turning her attention to Blaise.

Blaise felt a warm sensation, and his painful and swollen lip returned to normal. 

‘That’s it,’ said Ginny angrily. She lowered her voice. ‘I’ve had enough of stupid boys telling me who I can and can’t see. None of my brothers are at school, so now I can do whatever I want. Never mind tomorrow by the lake, Blaise! Meet me in the Gryffindor Common Room at midnight. The password is _Glatisant_.’ She looked past Blaise, and her eyebrows shot up. ‘Bloody hell, now Neville is here! Midnight, and don’t forget the password, Blaise.’

He again tried to grab her and kiss her, but she slipped from his grasp and fled.

‘What’s going on, Zabini?’ Longbottom demanded.

‘I was just talking to Ginny, that’s all,’ said Zabini.

Longbottom glared. In previous years, Blaise would have laughed at an attempt at intimidation by the gormless Gryffindor, but seventh-year Longbottom was scar-faced, fierce, astonishingly competent, and rather frightening. The beefy blonde Gryffindor had been simmering with indignation since the beginning of the school year. But ever since Loony Lovegood—who scored an eight, but was completely insane and to be avoided at all costs—had been taken from the train at the start of the Christmas holidays, he’d become even more dangerous. Zabini took one look into Longbottom’s face and fled. _Glatisant_ , he remembered, wondering what the word meant, _the Gryffindor common room at midnight_.

‘Nice guys finish last, Longbottom,’ Blaise shouted just before he dashed around a corner.

* * *

After several heartfelt conversations with her dorm mate, Tabitha, Ginny had been made aware that, when he turned on the charm, Blaise’s blandishments were difficult to resist. She had been surprised to discover that, for her, that hadn’t been the case. His words were hollow; he thought he knew what she wanted to hear, and that’s what he told her. Her father hadn’t been talking about boys when he’d told her “If it seems too good to be true, it is!” but those words applied to Blaise. They’d applied to Michael, too. He wasn’t who he pretended to be.

At first she’d thought her failure to be impressed was because of his eyes; there was mischief and lust in them, but behind it was a calculating assessment of her reaction to his flattery. Her resistance to his charms was made easier by the fact that his attempts to sound knowledgeable about Quidditch were pathetic. Any true fan would instantly see through him. He was so ignorant about the game, she’d found it difficult not to lose her temper with him.

Zabini’s eyes weren’t honest and, more importantly, they weren’t green. Today—her closest encounter with Blaise—had proved that it wasn’t simply the eyes, it was the smell. Blaise simply smelt wrong. He’d slid his arms around her waist and pulled her close, and her nostrils had been assailed by whatever grooming products he wore. It was a pleasant musk, but it wasn’t the odour she longed to smell.

Ginny remembered that wonderful summer when she’d celebrated her fifteenth birthday, and the whispered conversation she’d had with Hermione almost a year later. They had been in her bedroom, getting ready for Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

_‘You kissed_ him _, didn’t you?’ Hermione asked. ‘It wasn’t the other way around. Ron thinks it was.’_

_‘Ron’s an idiot,’ said Ginny._

_‘He’s not,’ said Hermione hotly. ‘He’s rather sweet, really.’_

_‘I’m beginning to think you really do fancy him,’ said Ginny. ‘He’s getting it all from a book, you know. All those compliments he’s giving you since you arrived are straight out of a silly book.’_

_‘Ron’s actually reading something himself?’ Hermione asked, sounding impressed._

_‘It’s a book about how to pick up girls; he can’t ask you to read it for him, can he?’ Ginny replied tartly. They both laughed, but somewhere in the back of her mind Ginny knew that those words were Hermione’s silver lining. She had to ask. ‘You don’t... Ron... not really?’ Ginny asked as the laughter subsided._

_‘Don’t laugh. It’s not funny, not really. I sniffed Professor Slughorn’s Amortentia last year, and I’m certain that Ron was one of the things I smelt,’ Hermione admitted. ‘But then… Lavender… I don’t know...’_

_‘You smelt Ron? Not his socks, I hope,’ Ginny replied, not knowing what to say. Hermione laughed again and refused to say more._

_Ginny had remembered that conversation when she’d had her first lesson with Professor Slughorn. Even forewarned, it had taken some time for her to recognise the third, peculiar odour in the Amortentia. Alongside the smell of apple blossom from the orchard at The Burrow and the leathery smell of a Quaffle was a tart and almost acrid smell. She’d panicked, because it didn’t seem to be a smell she associated with Harry. Eventually, however, she identified it. It was post-Quidditch Harry._

_The summer of her fifteenth birthday was the first summer that Ginny had found that she was able to relax around Harry. It had been the first time she’d realised that he was, really, just another stupid boy. They had played a lot of knock-about Quidditch, and in one remarkable game, she, Harry, and Hermione had soundly beaten Ron and the twins. She and Harry had done most of the work, of course. They were hot and sweaty and exhausted, and happy._

_That was the smell. Harry had walked down to The Burrow with one arm around Hermione’s shoulders and the other around hers. She’d known that it meant nothing to Harry. It was a winning team moment, nothing more, and anyway, she was going out with Dean. The smell wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it wasn’t unpleasant either. It was the odour of Harry’s sweaty, tousled, and wind-swept hair. Once she’d identified it, she’d decided that it was, in fact, the smell of success, the smell of victory._

As she reached the Fat Lady’s portrait, Ginny brought herself back to the present and to the job at hand. ‘Justice,’ she said. The door to the Gryffindor common room swung open.

‘How in Merlin’s name do you get rid of these vile things?’ Lavender Brown asked. She’d managed to end Ginny’s Bat-Bogey hex, but her boyfriend’s face and hair was still covered in dry snot.

Ginny silently waved her wand and removed the mess from Seamus’ head.

‘That is an utterly disgusting spell. Never do it to me again,’ Seamus told Ginny as Lavender fussed over him.

‘You volunteered,’ Ginny reminded him, ‘because you wanted to thump Zabini. And it’s not like it was a proper curse, Seamus. It’s unpleasant, but not dangerous. Neville’s taken a lot worse than that from the Carrows.’

‘You healed Zabini almost as soon as I thumped him,’ Seamus protested. ‘He wasn’t in pain for long enough.’

‘Sorry,’ said Ginny. ‘You’re right, but I wanted to seem concerned.’

‘Well?’ Neville asked Ginny as he and Parvati Patil entered the room.

‘He asked me out, tomorrow,’ said Ginny, throwing the bunch of magically created roses she was still holding into the fire. Lavender watched them burn and Ginny heard her whimper of regret. ‘I didn’t fancy the idea of fighting him off for an entire day,’ Ginny continued, noticing Lavender’s covetous looks at the roses. ‘So I decided that we’d do it tonight. I told him our password and said I’d meet him here at midnight.’

‘You did what?’ Parvati shouted angrily.

‘You should’ve got some flowers for Lavender, Seamus,’ said Ginny, ignoring Parvati’s outburst.

Looking around at the silently watching younger students, Ginny cast Muffliato. ‘I didn’t tell him the _real_ password, Parvati,’ she explained once the spell took effect. ‘I told him that our password was “Glatisant”, and I hinted that I’d be waiting eagerly for him.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Neville, grinning. 

‘Using “Glatisant” was a bit of a risk,’ said Parvati thoughtfully. ‘He’s not a complete idiot, you know.’

Seamus looked puzzled. ‘A risk?’ Seamus asked in an attempt to divert Lavender from their separate, sulky conversation about her lack of flowers. She, too, looked puzzled.

‘Glatisant is the Questing Beast,’ Neville explained. ‘It’s the creature the Round Table Knights can’t ever catch.’

‘How do you know that?’ Seamus asked. Neville simply shrugged.

‘I had to think quickly,’ said Ginny. ‘I didn’t want to let him paw me. When he moved in to kiss me, I was very close to hexing him. I knew that if I gave him another opportunity to grab me I’d have retaliated, and _that_ would’ve given the game away.’ She turned to Seamus and gave him a grateful smile which he acknowledged with a brief nod. ‘It was the first word I thought of,’ Ginny continued. ‘I’m glad you spotted my signal Seamus. Thanks for the rescue.’

As she spoke, Ginny’s stomach knotted. Playing along with Blaise had simply increased her anxiety over the safety of Hermione, her brother, and Harry. She’d spent the entire year pretending to be obsessed by Oliver Wood, but without any news, it was becoming difficult to keep up the act. She wondered where they were and what they were doing.

‘Are you sure that it worked?’ asked Neville.

‘Fairly certain, yes,’ said Ginny. ‘The slimy poser thinks I’m besotted with him. All we need to do is wait outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Blaise will open the door for us when he comes out.’

‘We should get there at eleven, just in case he’s out early,’ Lavender suggested.

‘He won’t be,’ said Ginny confidently. She shuddered. ‘He’ll want to keep me on tenterhooks, so he’ll be a few minutes late in arriving here.’

‘Remember, if we can’t alter their printing machine to produce our own posters, we’ll simply destroy it,’ said Neville.

‘We know the plan, Neville,’ said Lavender.

‘I’ll let Padma know, and she’ll speak to the boys,’ said Parvati.

‘Thanks, Parvati,’ said Neville. ‘I’ll contact Ernie and Susan.’

‘I want to teach Blaise a lesson, too,’ said Ginny. ‘Can I have a word in private, Lavender?’

* * *

Ginny was proved correct when, moments before midnight, the door to the Slytherin common room opened. As an immaculately robed Blaise Zabini stepped out, he was instantly hit by two Stunning spells. The remaining contingent of Dumbledore’s Army ensured that the secret door remained open.

After removing their Disillusionment charms, the group donned Headless Hats to conceal their identities and silently went to work. Padma, Parvati, Terry, and Anthony moved across to the printer; Michael and Susan stood guard at the entrance; and Seamus and Ernie kept watch on the corridor leading to the Slytherin dormitories.

As the others carried out their vital work, Neville rather reluctantly removed the unconscious Blaise’s robes. His actions revealed a white vest and Y-fronts.

‘Very sexy,’ whispered Lavender as, under Seamus’ watchful gaze, she, Ginny, and Neville began to dress him in the pale blue Muggle party dress she had found among her old clothes.

‘The Head Boy’s room is in the corner,’ Susan whispered and pointed to the others.

‘I forgot that you’ve been in here before, Susan,’ said Ginny as she helped Lavender to zip Blaise into the dress.

Having magically adjusted the dress to make it fit Blaise, Lavender pulled out her makeup bag and began to carefully apply lipstick to the unconscious Slytherin. Leaving Lavender to finish with Blaise, Ginny moved quietly across to the door and examined the brass plate affixed to it.

By the time Ginny had finished making her adjustments to the plaque on the door to the Head Boy’s room, Lavender was applying orange makeup to Blaise’s eyelids. Soon, the curly-haired girl was stepping back and admiring her handiwork. Behind them, thanks to some impressive spellwork by Padma, Parvati, Terry, and Anthony, the printing machine was silently spewing out posters.

‘Do you want to apply the final touch, Ginny?’ Lavender asked.

‘Yes,’ said Ginny, placing a blonde wig on the unconscious Slytherin’s head. ‘ _Petrificus Totalis_ ,’ she added, putting Blaise, who had been slowly stirring, into a Full Body-Bind.

‘What were you doing to the door?’ Lavender asked when they’d managed to prop Blaise up in a corner. Ginny indicated the plaque, and Lavender began to laugh.

* * *

Draco liked to get up late on a Saturday morning. That morning, however, he was woken by nervous murmurings in his dormitory.

‘Cowards, both of you,’ a familiar voice murmured. ‘I’ll tell him.’

The voice which had woken him belonged to Theodore Nott, and when the green curtains of his four-poster bed were swept aside, Draco found himself staring into a pale and thin face topped by short-cropped dark hair.

‘You need to see this, Draco,’ Nott said quietly. ‘It seems that Blaise, despite his boasts last night, has failed spectacularly in his mission to get any information from Weasley.’ There was a faint glimmer of amusement on Nott’s face but Crabbe and Goyle did not look happy.

Draco pulled on his dressing gown and followed them into a common room crowded with students of all ages. The first thing he saw was Zabini. He was wearing a blue, and ridiculously frilly, Muggle dress, a blonde wig, and makeup; and he was propped up against the wall in a Full Body-Bind. One very tall, dark-haired and bespectacled sixth-year girl was busy photographing the scene. Draco’s snort of laughter died in his throat when he saw the posters on the common room wall. 

“Muggles are People, too” one read, “Resist Tyranny,” said another. The third almost made his heart stop. An image of the Dark Lord had been defaced. The Voldemort on the poster wore sad-clown makeup, and above the image was written: “A tyrant is someone who cannot laugh at himself.”

‘Tear them down, tear them all down,’ Draco shrieked. ‘And print new ones, replace them all.’

‘We can’t print new ones,’ said Daphne. ‘They’ve destroyed the printer.’

‘And they’ve used all of the poster paper we had, too,’ added a sour-faced fifth-year boy.

‘What are you grinning at,’ Draco demanded of some of the younger students. They attempted to put on serious faces, but some of them failed. It was then that Draco spotted Pansy. She was staring at the plaque on the door to his room, a smug smirk playing on her lips. He strode over to see what she was looking at. As he moved closer to the door, he saw the words on the plaque shimmer and change. As he watched, Draco Malfoy, Horrible Bully became Draco Malfoy, Humungous Berk. The Head Boy howled in horror.

‘I’ve tried to fix it,’ said Pansy. Her attempt to sound earnest was half-hearted at best. ‘But I can’t. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to remove the plaque.’ She almost sounded pleased as she made the suggestion.

As she spoke, Draco saw the sign change again; it now read Draco Malfoy, Hypocritical Blackguard.

‘Somebody, do something about this, now!’ he demanded petulantly. The words morphed into Draco Malfoy, Hideous Brat.

‘That’s an order!’ he shouted, his voice breaking in anger. ‘You must obey me!’ The sign now read: Draco Malfoy, Hallucinating Braggart.

‘This is all the fault of those filthy Mudbloods and blood-traitors,’ he added, turning to face his staring fellow Slytherins. The sixth year girl was still taking photographs. Everyone stared at him. Behind him, the sign read: Draco Malfoy, Hateful Bigot.


End file.
